


Waiting For Someone Who Needs Me

by graceling_in_a_suit



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (Its an au because its not one direction does that make sense?), Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Asexual Niall, Bisexual Liam, Demisexual Zayn, Fluff, Harry is a genie, M/M, Magical Realism, just a fun queer band having fun queer times with their genie pal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 17:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15199730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceling_in_a_suit/pseuds/graceling_in_a_suit
Summary: Harry huffed in frustration. His feet pigeon-toed as he took a step forward. “None?” he asked with a hint of desperation. “You have nothing that you need?”Louis shook his head. “Listen. I’ve a million things that I want, like for the Donny Rovers to get to finals and for our band to do well and to write better songs and for my mum to be able to pay off her mortgage, but I don’tneedany of those things. There’s a difference.”AU: Harry is a genie, and Louis doesn't think he needs anything.





	Waiting For Someone Who Needs Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a prompt challenge that a group of us are participating in for the prompt "Need". To read the amazing fics that were written by the others on this prompt, [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/need/works), and to see all fics written as part of the challenge, [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/wordplay_fic_challenge/works).
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful and amazing and perfect and beautiful beta reader! :D (she totally didn't write that). Love ya gal xx
> 
> (The title is from Christina Aguilera's _Genie In A Bottle_ , because I couldn't resist.)

“That’s hideous, Niall,” Louis deadpanned.

Niall—stood across the cluttered aisle of the antique shop—lowered the jumper he’d been holding up with a scowl. “But Louis, it’s got personality!”

Louis scoffed. “The only thing it’s got is moths,” he retorted, turning back to the faded mirror he’d been inspecting.

He saw Niall’s distorted reflection put the jumper back into the chest he’d fished it from with a forlorn expression.

Louis sighed. “Come on, lad, we’re not even here for clothes.”

Niall smiled, straightening his back. “Yeah, we’re here because ‘I’m not doing one more tour with you trolls unless we get some fucking nice throw pillows or an old coffee table or some shit.’”

His Zayn impression was as spot on as always.

Louis cracked a smile. He stood on his tiptoes and scanned the store—an impressive two-story place in whatever ass-crack town they were in at the moment. His eyes passed over rows upon rows of chests, wardrobes, tables, chairs, lamps, and other sundry until he managed to spot Zayn and Liam. The were loitering about looking through what appeared to be a Victorian-era spoon collection. Zayn was picking them up at random and holding them up to Liam’s face until he broke and pushed them away.

“They’re not even looking at pillows or tables or _some shit_ ,” Niall whined. “See!” He threw his hands up. “They don’t know what they’re looking for either!”

Louis threw a companionable arm over Niall’s shoulders, steering him towards the back of the store. “C’mon, love, let’s go look at those lamps. I bet Zayn would love a nice lamp for the dressing room.”

Niall nodded. “And Paul won’t complain about having to cart it around with us, if it’s just a lamp.”

“Exactly!” Louis smiled.

The lamp selection was, in a word, varied. There were desk lamps and floor lamps and—well. It was mainly just lots of those two types. To be fair, Louis considered as he perused, there wasn’t really another kind of lamp.

“Is it a lamp if it hangs from a wall, Niall?” Louis asked, poking one of the desk lamps. It was a model he’d seen in the background of TV shows all his life, with a long green glass shade over the bulb. He flicked it on just for fun, but it wasn’t plugged in.

“Nah, I think that’s just a light,” Niall called back. Louis snuck a glance at him and saw he was squinting at two identical floor lamps with boring white shades like he was playing a spot-the-difference game. Louis smiled to himself, wandering further down the aisle.

Ironically, it wasn’t very well lit in this part of the store. As a result, he nearly bumped into a wooden table that was jutting out. As he clasped it to steady himself, he was brought face to face with the most intricate lamp he’d ever seen. The metal of the lamp—bronze, it seemed—was twisted in a beautiful swirled pattern, but the shade was the real eye-catcher of the piece, made of a soft pink material embroidered with rococo-style floral motifs, soft tassels hanging down from the bottom.

Really, it was kind of silly how pretty it was.

“Niall! Check this one out,” He called, careful not to raise his voice too loud. There was something about the oppressive silence of the store that made him not want to draw attention to himself.

Niall wandered over curiously. “Whazzat? Oh!” He followed Louis’ gaze. “Wow.”

“We’re getting this one,” Louis declared with the kind of authority that came naturally to him, in cases like this. “I've decided.”

“Yeah, alright,” said Niall, not unenthusiastically.

Louis turned back to the lamp and smiled. “Yeah. Alright.”

 

***

 

Zayn and Liam ended up picking out a coffee table made out of Atlantic driftwood—it looked as pretentious as it sounded. Louis only didn’t say anything about it because then Zayn would get defensive and insult Louis’ lamp right back and, well. That wasn’t going to go well.

“You’re kind of creepy with that thing, you know?” Liam said.

He’d just caught Louis googling how to polish bronze. It was a perfectly acceptable thing to google when you were a bronze-lamp-owner and the bronze lamp in question was a little on the dull side. It deserved to be shiny, a lamp like that.

Louis glared at Liam, who was sitting next to him on the couch in their now very nice dressing room. He elbowed Liam in the gut. Showed him for calling Louis creepy.

Liam grunted in pain, then shot forward to tickle Louis as revenge.

“Fuck off!” Louis yelled, laughing and trying to bat Liam away. “I’m not creepy! I just like it, is all.”

Liam sobered up a little, gazing at the lamp. He narrowed his eyes at it for a few seconds.

Finally, he turned back to Louis. “I don’t get it,” he said apologetically. “It’s just a lamp.”

Louis huffed, frustrated. “Well obviously it’s a lamp. It’s just… A really nice lamp.”

Louis went back to his wiki-how article. Liam went back to painting both of their nails blue. Neither of them spoke again until Zayn and Niall found them for soundcheck.

 

***

 

“So. Lampy,” Louis said. It was a few days later, and they were in another town. The venues they were playing were tiny—they were still a no-name band trying to make it big, but they had a devoted fanbase spread across the UK. Said fanbase wasn’t very large but, well, it was theirs.

It was just Louis in the dressing room today—the rest of the boys were fucking about somewhere, exploring the venue.

Louis poked the lamp, leaning forward from his position kneeling in front of the coffee table. “Today is the day I’m going to polish you. You’re going to be so shiny, love!”

On a scale of chain smoking to biting his nails, talking to inanimate objects was not Louis’ worst habit.

The tassels of the lamp moved a little, swaying in time with Louis’ breaths. Louis smiled and started working. It only took a half hour to get the bronze looking shiny, working at it with a cloth and the special chemical he’d sent Paul out to buy.

It was hardly the best smell, but it was worth it for the way the lamp sparkled in the soft light it emitted.

“Thats better, isn’t it?” Louis sighed, placing the cloth back on the table. He couldn’t resist reaching his fingers forward to touch the smooth metal, overcome by the same strange compulsion that had driven him to polish it in the first place. Perhaps Liam was right—he was being a little bit creepy. Still, he felt driven to rub his hand across the metal—once, twice, three times.

Suddenly, the lamp glowed much brighter. It filled the room with a white light, and Louis could barely see or hear through the ringing in his ears. Just when it almost became unbearable, it stopped. As suddenly as it had started.

Louis blinked a few times, waiting for the spots in his vision to clear. It was taking longer than it should have, because there seemed to be a man standing on the other side of the table, and no one had come in so it was definitely an illusion. A man-sized illusion. Made from light spots.

“Fuck,” Louis cursed, scrambling to stand. He wobbled a little bit, and then was righted by a strong hand on his elbow. Louis shook his head, dazed.

Now that his vision was slightly clearer, there was no doubt that it was indeed a man standing beside Louis. He had short brown hair that curled around his ears, the kind of smile that made Louis think he really had gone mad, and a pair of shining green eyes.

Literally shining. They were glittering. What the fuck.

“Are you okay?” The man asked gently, taking a step back from Louis now that he wasn’t in danger of falling. His doughy features creased in concern.

Louis couldn’t string a coherent thought together if he tried, too busy taking in every detail of the stranger, from his milky skin to his strange antique clothes.

There was something about them that was familiar, and it tickled at the back of Louis’ mind for several long seconds until he realised. The man was dressed like his lamp. Louis took a step back in shock, whipping his head between the lamp—still sitting on the coffee table, as innocent as a lamp can be—and the frowning man wearing an identically embroidered suit.

“Can you hear me? Are you alright?” The man asked again, louder this time.

Louis cleared his throat a couple times. “I’m alright, I think,” he managed. “Sorry—who are you?”

The man’s features cleared and his back straightened, like he was remembering how he was supposed to act. There was something so… _posh_ about him, the way he moved.

“So rude of me not to introduce myself!” He began, smiling politely. “My name is Harry, and my sole purpose is to serve you. How may I best fulfil your needs?” He bowed his head deferentially.

The sight of it made Louis a little sick. “You what, mate?” He asked dumbly, feeling more northern than he usually did.

Harry grinned. “Oh, of course! You need me to be less formal. I can do that,” he said, already beginning to slouch back into something resembling normal posture. When he spoke again, his voice was ever so slightly deeper. His consonants bled together in a kind of charming drawl. “I’m Harry. I belong to you. What do you need?”

Louis blinked slowly. Then, he dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t fucking believe this,” he muttered.

Harry made a noise of confusion, but Louis ignored him. He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialled Niall’s number. It rang for a few long seconds, and then—

“Hello?”

“Niall, can you come to the dressing room for a minute? I need you to tell me I haven’t gone off my fucking rocker.”

Niall laughed heartily from the other end of the phone. Harry smiled at the sound. His eyes hadn’t stopped glowing. Louis had really been hoping they would.

“Sure, I’ll be there in a mo,” Niall responded after his laughter died down. “I’ll bring the other lads too, eh? More the merrier, I figure, if you’ve dipped into your stash this early in the day.”

Of course Niall assumed Louis had gotten high. Any normal person would. In fact, Louis himself was strongly considering the possibility that perhaps he had and he didn’t remember.

In the minute that it took for Niall, Liam and Zayn to arrive, Louis made himself busy by pacing along the back wall and ignoring Harry (other than the occasional sidelong glance to confirm that he was still there, sitting on the couch and smiling at Louis patiently).

Finally, there was a knock on the door. Louis rushed over and threw it open, pulling the boys inside and slamming it behind them.

“Lads, here’s the tea: the lamp I bought had a genie inside, his name is Harry, and he’s over there,” Louis explained, only sounding a little bit manic.

Niall blinked and laughed uncomfortably. Liam raised his eyebrows and studied Harry over Louis’ shoulder. Zayn just nodded, like he’d foreseen this eventuality somehow.

“Hi! I’m Harry!” Harry said, standing from the couch. Louis turned to face him reluctantly. He was still annoyingly real.

“Hi, Harry! I’m Niall,” Niall said in a friendly way. To Louis, he whispered, “This is the maddest stunt you’ve ever pulled, Louis.”

Liam leaned forward as well, making it a sort of huddle formation. “I don’t think he’s lying. Harry has glow-eyes.”

Louis pointed at Liam, vindicated. Zayn made a considering noise. “Did you polish the lamp like you said you were going to?” He asked, very reasonably.

Louis put his hands on his waist. “I did. And then a man appeared and said he belonged to me. I think all evidence points to genie."

“Or a mad fan with a slavery kink,” Niall added cheekily.

Zayn made another considering noise.

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis hissed.

Then, he pulled away from the huddle and turned back to Harry.

He was still standing there with a pleasant expression on his face.

“Harry, are you a genie?” Louis asked.

Harry startled, like he’d been sleeping with his eyes open. “Oh!” He said, collecting himself. “I suppose so.”

“Hah!” Louis cried, victorious. “What did I fucking tell you! That lamp is special and you’re a bunch of dicks for making fun of me for it.”

Niall threw his hands up in fake surrender, but Liam looked genuinely apologetic. “Sorry, Louis. And… Harry,” He added, unsure.

“Can you grant wishes?” Zayn asked, looking alive with the prospect of it.

Harry stared at him blankly. “My purpose is to fulfil the needs of my master.”

Louis frowned. As magical and fun as meeting a genie sounded, the way Harry was talking reminded Louis more of a horror film than a Disney movie.

Louis did something he hadn’t really done in years: he thought about what he was going to say.

“I don’t have any needs, thank you,” he decided on. “I have my boys,” he gestured over his shoulder, “and my band,” he gestured to the amps and spare guitars piled in the corner of the room, “and we might not be billionaires but we make enough to support our families. You don’t have to…” Louis trailed off, unsure how to finish that. _You don’t have to be my slave? You don’t have to help? You don’t have to exist?_

Louis was hoping that his words would be comforting to Harry, who he could only assume wasn’t used to being turned down, but instead they seemed to be quite distressing.

“My purpose is to fulfil your needs,” he repeated like a broken record, eyes panicked.

Louis stood his ground. “I don’t have any. You’re free to, I don’t know, do whatever you like. I’m not going to _own_ you, that’s fucked up.”

Harry hunched in on himself. Louis almost felt a little bad, but, really… He wasn’t about to be anybody’s _master._

“If you don’t want him, I’ll have him,” Liam piped up. “I’d like a three-story house shaped like a T-Rex, please.” This he directed at Harry. It was a poor attempt at lightening the mood. Harry didn’t seem to find it very funny.

He raised his head to stare directly as Louis. His gaze was a touch petulant, a touch hurt, and a lot determined. “I’ll ask again tomorrow, then, shall I?” He said. It wasn’t really a question.

Then, with a small popping sound, he was gone.

There was silence in the room for about five minutes, only broken by the odd cough or shuffle of feet. Everyone was trying to reconcile what had just happened with their understanding of the world and the laws of physics.

“How’s about we crack open that weed then, boys?” Louis said after he’d successfully managed to repress the entire encounter. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“Yeah, Lou, sounds ace,” Niall said. “Today can’t get any fucking weirder.”

 

***

 

That night onstage, the boys were _electric._ They were wild and loud, running about and singing their hearts out. They only had two albums out so far, but with all of them pitching in on the writing process it meant for more than enough songs to fill up a show. The venue wasn’t packed per se, but the enthusiasm from the audience more than made up for it.

“We are The Rogue! Thank you and good night,” Louis yelled, grinning at the wave of screams that hit him. There really wasn’t anything better than this, he thought as he looked out at the crowd. Bright lights, happy fans, and his band of brothers. What more could he need?

He couldn’t get that question out of his head. It followed him all night, stuck to the back of his eyelids as he showered and packed up his things for the hotel. He was probably quieter than usual on the car ride back, but the other boys filled the silence.

Louis just stared at his nails—Liam’s blue nail polish chipping off from a night of plucking guitar strings—and tried not to get stuck in his head. It didn’t really work.

Normally when he felt like this he’d just beg one of the boys (or whoever else was around) to come out partying with him, drink himself under a table until his racing mind was quiet again. But after last tour, what nearly happened… He wasn’t about to start down that road again.

“You alright, Tommo?” Zayn asked quietly, loitering in the hallway that separated their rooms. It wasn’t a very fancy hotel—paint cracking off the walls and a stale smell to the air—but they didn’t have the budget for those.

“Yeah, babe, I’ll be fine,” Louis smiled. Zayn always seemed to know when Louis needed a helping hand (not that Louis was any good at accepting it).

Zayn nodded, then disappeared into his room.

Louis locked the door after himself and collapsed against the wood dramatically, eyes drifting shut. Then, he wrenched them back open.

There, sitting innocently on the bedside table, was the lamp.

“What the fuck,” Louis breathed, moving to stand beside it cautiously. Nothing happened, though, not even when he ran his fingers across it. Perhaps he had hallucinated Harry.

 _Why would I name him Harry, if I’d made him up,_ Louis thought, crawling under the soft sheets. He was too fucking tired to worry about magical teleporting lamps. _It’s the worst genie name I’ve ever heard._

As he drifted off to sleep, he could have sworn he heard a soft whisper of, “Goodnight, Louis.”

 

***

 

Louis had spread his entire wardrobe across his bed. There was a purpose to the madness, as usual; today their management had hired a photographer to come take some promotional shots of them on tour, and Louis needed to look every bit the flamboyant but deadly rockstar that his image (and his heart) wanted him to be. That meant choosing the right jeans and tank top combination. It was Summer in Britain, so he didn’t have to worry about not being able to show off all his tattoos. He’d spent good money on those, after all.

He was just deciding between his Skate Tough tank and his Joy Division one when someone cleared their throat behind him.

Louis tensed instinctively, then made himself relax. No use overreacting. Harry had said he’d be back, after all.

“So, I guess you’re real then,” Louis shot over his shoulder. Harry was dressed exactly the same today, but his hair was a little messier, like he’d run his hand through it a few dozen times. It stuck up adorably in a few places. Louis resisted the urge to smooth it down.

“Of course,” Harry said, frowning. “Aren’t you?”

Louis considered this. “Maybe,” he shrugged, turning back to his shirts. “Who’s to say, Harold? Life’s a mystery, and all that.”

“It’s Harry,” he said, walking in front of Louis to block his view of the bed. Louis crossed his arms indignantly. “And I’m here to fulfil your needs.”

The way he said that reminded Louis of his time as Danny in _Grease_. Specifically, it reminded him of the weeks he’d spent locked in his room running his lines over and over again until his delivery was good enough.

“Splendid! I don’t have any,” Louis replied sunnily. A good night’s sleep hadn’t changed his stance on this.

Harry huffed in frustration. His feet pigeon-toed as he took a step forward. “None?” He asked with a hint of desperation. “You have nothing that you need?”

Louis shook his head. “Listen. I’ve a million things that I _want,_ like for the Donny Rovers to get to finals and for our band to do well and to write better songs and for my mum to be able to pay off her mortgage, but I don’t _need_ any of those things. There’s a difference.”

Harry set his shoulders stubbornly. “You’ll need something soon, Louis. Everybody does.” With that, he was gone.

Louis sighed. He picked up the Joy Division shirt.

 

***

 

“Why don’t you ask ‘im for a million pounds or something,” Niall said around a mouthful of pasta. It was the next day, and they were out to lunch, eating in a charming local restaurant outside in the sunshine.

Tomorrow they’d be packing up and driving to the next town.

Three more months of this.

Louis leaned back in his chair, pulling one of his legs up to rest his arm on. The lit cigarette he was nursing dangled delicately from his hand.

“I don’t think you’re understanding the fundamentals of the problem, boyo,” Louis said, tapping his ash off. “I don’t bloody _need_ a million pounds, do I?”

Liam patted Louis’ shoulder consolingly. “Maybe you can try and release him? Like, from the eternal imprisonment of being trapped in a lamp?”

Louis took a long drag as he considered this. Eventually, he shrugged. “Could do, yeah. Not sure he’d be up for it.”

Zayn took a bite of his sandwich. Then, he offered: “You need some new socks, right? After Niall stole them all for that prank on Paul?”

Niall sniggered at the memory, and Liam joined in. Louis would have also laughed—it was a very funny prank, and he’d been a bit miffed at the time not to have been included—but he had been going without socks for a few weeks now and even he, the sockless wonder, was getting tired of it.

Still. “I’m not gonna ask a fucking genie for socks, Zayn.”

Zayn shrugged. “You could, though.”

Louis took another drag of his cigarette.

 

***

 

“Good evening, Louis,” Louis heard as he pushed open his hotel door. Harry was standing in the middle of the room, hands behind his back and a pleasant smile on his face. He’d cleaned up a little in here, it seemed, and drawn open the blinds. It made the shitty room like nice, almost… quaint.

“Yeah, hi,” Louis said dismissively. He was a right mess; the boys had decided on a friendly afternoon game of footie in the park that turned into all out warfare in five seconds flat. “Fuck, I need a bath,” Louis muttered, plucking the sweaty shirt from his chest.

Harry lit up. “A bath! I can do that!” He disappeared with a pop.

“What—“ Louis started. He thought back to what he’d said, then snorted to himself. He only had time to kick off his shoes before Harry appeared right in front of him.

“Jesus, love, wear a bell or something, would you?” Louis swore, startled.

Harry looked more excited than Louis had seen anyone look at being sworn at. “Do you need me to?” He asked.

“Fuck’s sake, no!” Louis snapped. He was aware he was being a dick, but he was also tired and covered in mud and generally an impatient person.

Harry didn’t seem phased. He took Louis’ hand with the sort of extreme gentleness normally reserved for ducklings or expensive flowers and started tugging him in the direction of the bathroom.

“I made a bath for you,” he said. “You look like you really need one.”

Louis examined the smirk that was tilting up the corners of Harry’s lips and the sparkle in his already sparkling eyes.

“Oi!” He laughed, recognising the insult for what it was. “You little shit!”

Harry laughed softly and pushed open the bathroom door. Inside was definitely not the bathroom. At least, not the one that had been there this morning. Now, it was a large room with beautifully patterned tiling on the floor and full length windows at the back overlooking a rose garden. In the middle of the room was an ornate bronze bath filled to the brim with steaming water and bubbles. It was the kind of bath Louis had only seen in movies, with clawed feet and enough room for about four people.

“You… literally made me a bath,” Louis said flatly.

Harry let go of his hand as if stung. “Do you not like it?” He asked, looking between Louis’ blank expression and the room he’d conjured.

Louis didn’t really have the words to explain what he was feeling, so he didn’t. Instead, he patted Harry on the cheek distractedly and walked into the room, examining the bath.

He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor carelessly. He paused before pushing down his shorts, shooting a look at Harry who was still loitering in the doorway.

“Thanks for the bath, Harry, but I think I can take it from here,” he sassed.

Harry blushed ever so slightly. “You’re welcome,” he muttered, pulling the door closed.

“Harry! Wait!” Louis called, remembering this afternoon’s conversation.

Harry pushed the door back open a crack, a hopeful expression on his face.

“I, um,” Louis fixed his fringe. “I need some socks. Please.”

Harry grinned and shut the door.

When Louis returned to the room after about an hour of soaking in the tub—an hour of absolute bliss, at that—it was to find Harry gone and a suitcase sitting open on his bed, piled high with every colour of sock imaginable.

 

***

 

Harry was nothing if not determined. It was something Louis would admire him for, if it wasn’t so frustrating. Every day he appeared, always when Louis found himself alone.

“Do you need anything?” He would ask, smiling and willing to serve.

Louis fucking hated it.

His responses were always some variation of ‘no, thank you’ (sometimes it was ‘no, fuck off’, but he wasn’t a bloody saint, alright?).

It had been three weeks of this, and there was no sign it was ending soon.

He was in a bit of a mood today, and the boys could tell. They were chugging their way through soundcheck, going through the motions mostly. Louis played his bass with a little more force than necessary, plucking out the notes like he could solve his problems by being loud enough.

It had worked before.

They were in the middle of No Control, just about to start the second chorus, when Louis went too hard on one of his strings and it snapped.

“Fuck,” he hissed, pulling his hand back. One of his fingers was burning from being whacked by the flying metal, and he stuck it in his mouth. “Shit,” he cursed again.

“Lou? Y’alright?” Niall asked, fingers pausing on the fretboard of his electric guitar. Liam stopped as well, and Zayn lowered his drumsticks.

“Fine,” Louis said, inspecting his finger. It wasn’t bleeding, but it hurt like a bitch. And his fucking bass was missing a D-string, two hours out from the show.

“Keep going, lads, I’ll fix this,” Louis said, pulling a calm air of authority that he didn’t really feel around himself. These boys needed him to look like he knew what he was doing, so. That’s what he did.

“If you say so,” Zayn said uncertainly.

Louis smiled at him in a way he hoped was reassuring. Zayn smiled back.

The smile melted off Louis’ face the second he turned away. He stalked off stage, pulling his bass over his head. He didn’t have a spare D-string anymore—this was the third one he’d snapped.

Louis was about to have an incredibly justified mini-tantrum when Harry appeared in front of him. Louis jumped. He hadn’t even noticed the lamp sitting in the corner of the room, so used to seeing it everywhere he went.

“Do you need help, Louis?” Harry asked concernedly.

Louis blinked back tears. This was the bass he’d gotten for his sixteenth birthday, before his mum could really even afford to give her kids gifts like that, and he’d taken care of it for eight years all by himself. Even the roadies knew not to mess with it. But here Harry was, worried and offering to help.

Louis sniffled. Harry’s brows pinched. He reached out his hands halfway towards Louis, like he wanted to comfort him but didn’t know how.

Louis held his bass out wordlessly.

Harry looked between Louis’ face and the guitar. He took it with gentle hands, pulling it towards himself and inspecting it sadly.

“Do you need me to fix it?”

Louis looked up at the ceiling. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second.

“Yes, please.”

Harry smiled. He disappeared with the bass.

Louis tried not to panic. Instead, he lowered himself onto the ground, leaning against the wall of the backstage area and looking through the curtains at his boys rehearsing.

His fingers itched to call his mum.

There was a soft popping noise, then Harry was beside him. He looked strange sitting next to Louis, like his legs hadn’t been designed for anything except standing, but he relaxed into the position after a couple seconds.

“Here,” he said, offering Louis his bass back. “I made new strings for you. These ones won’t snap, I promise.”

Louis took it and ran his fingers over it fondly. The strings were a brilliant gold colour, sparkling in the low light. They looked wicked. Fierce.

“Thanks, Haz,” Louis said, overwhelmed.

Harry ducked his head, smiling. “You’re welcome.”

Then, he was gone again.

 

***

 

Something changed after that day. Harry still appeared every day, but he didn’t ask what Louis needed anymore. Instead, he asked how his day had been, what his plans were, sometimes strange things like what his favourite fruit was.

It seemed to Louis like he’d realised that, if Louis ever did need anything, he wasn’t going to ask for it. Harry would have to just… know.

And it worked, for the most part. Louis would complain about being cold while they were getting their hair done backstage, and then Harry would be there with a prize-winning smile on his face and one of Louis’ jumpers in his hands. Or, Louis would curl up in an armchair staring at a photo of his mum from the last time he saw her two months ago, and suddenly Louis’ laptop was on his lap and Harry was bending over his shoulder, pressing the ‘video call’ button on their Skype chat.

It was an imperfect system, but it suited Louis just fine. He didn’t have to worry about turning Harry down anymore, and he didn’t have to worry about taking advantage of a strange magical being that was trying to be his servant—he could just pretend Harry was doings things for him because he wanted to, not because he was a slave to Louis’ cruel whims.

However, he did have to worry about how fond he was getting of said strange magical being.

Whenever Harry appeared—and it wasn’t just when Louis was alone anymore, sometimes it was when Louis was hanging with the boys—it sent a strange fluttery feeling through Louis’ chest. He found himself smiling at the oddest things, just because they reminded him of Harry.

Right now, for instance, he was grinning at a mango. The lads had dragged him to a local market, and they were all loading up on organic fruit and boutique cheese and shit like that for the road.

Louis was having fun picking out the most misshapen produce, but this mango. This mango was the best of them all. It looked like it had a little face, complete with a tiny nose and ears.

Harry would love it. He seemed to collect strange things with an air of gentle mockery mixed with genuine affection.

Louis bought it for that reason alone.

When he got back to his hotel room, it was to find Harry curled up in the armchair by the window, reading Louis’ copy of a Midsummer Night’s Dream.

“Friends of yours?” Louis asked cheekily as he set his bags down on the counter. Harry jumped like he’d been caught doing something illicit and tried to hide the book under his leg.

“Harry, you’re allowed to read,” Louis rolled his eyes.

Harry blinked heavily, then slowly pulled the book back into view. He caressed the cover, a far away smile on his face. Then, he seemed to realise what Louis had said. He grinned.

“Yes, I’m over at the lady Tatiana’s for tea every Tuesday,” he sniffed.

Louis laughed.

Harry’s pokerface broke at the sound. He stood and came over to Louis, inspecting the bags. “What did you get me?” He asked cheekily. The more Louis had gotten to know him, the more Harry’s sense of humour had shone through like little specks of glitter that you could never vacuum out of a carpet. He was the sassiest minx Louis had ever met, and he loved it.

Louis was a little sad that Harry seemed to think the possibility of Louis buying him something was laughable, though.

“Um, I,” Louis stammered, pulling out the mango. He’d hastily gift-wrapped it in some nice magazine photos of flowers that he’d found in the lobby. It wasn’t the world’s best wrapping, but Harry’s face lit up like he’d never seen something more precious.

“Really?” He breathed, taking the present delicately. It was dwarfed by his hands.

Louis smiled shyly and nodded. “It reminded me of you,” he offered.

Harry looked up at him with wet eyes, irises glowing bright green.

“Oh, no, love, don’t cry,” Louis said, floating his hands over Harry’s face but not daring to touch. “I’m sorry, please don’t cry.”

Harry shook his head. “Don’t be sorry, Louis,” he said, voice deeper than usual. Louis pulled his hands back and folded them across his chest, just for something to do with them.

Harry looked back down at the present. He raised a hand and started unpicking the scotch tape excruciatingly slowly. It was the kind of thing you did when you were worried about ripping the paper.

Louis forced himself to remain patient while Harry undid his dodgy work, biting his tongue against the self-deprecating comments he was itching to make. Harry didn’t need that right now.

Eventually Harry pushed back the paper to reveal the mango. He snorted at the sight of it, a big goofy grin spreading across his face.

“I love it,” He said, turning that thousand-watt smile to Louis.

Louis blushed. “It has a face,” he said dumbly.

Harry nodded like Louis had just made a worthwhile comment. “It does.”

Then, the mango was gone. Louis blinked.

“Thank you, Louis,” Harry said, sincere and warm. “I’ll treasure it always.” There was a cheekiness to his grin as he said that, dimples deepening.

Louis was torn between telling him to fuck off and telling him he was welcome.

He didn’t have to choose, in the end, because Harry was gone in the next second.

 

***

 

“Are we saving a seat for dear Harold?” Niall asked cheekily, nudging Louis. They were in line at the local theatre of the latest town they were in, killing time before their show by seeing the latest Marvel film.

“I don’t know, Niall, do you see a lamp around anywhere?” Louis sassed back, popping his hip.

“Yeah, actually,” Zayn offered. Louis followed his gaze over to an unattended ticket booth at the other side of the theatre lobby. Sitting on top was, naturally, Harry’s lamp.

Or was Harry the lamp?

Louis hadn’t really asked. It didn’t seem polite to inquire into the specifics of someone’s entrapment in an inanimate object.

“Hi, guys,” said Harry, appearing to the left of Liam. Liam didn’t even startle, he just smiled at Harry in greeting and wrapped him in a friendly hug. They were more than used to him, by now. It had been two months of Harry popping up in their lives, and Louis wasn’t the only one who’d gotten fond.

Some of the roadies had even started to get attached after Harry had ventured out and started hanging around Louis in public. They asked after him all the time—‘Is Harry coming to this one, Louis?’—even though from the best of Louis’ reckoning all Harry did was ask about their families a couple times and occasionally make fun of them.

Harry just had that effect on people, it seemed.

“Hiya, Harry!” Niall greeted. “Excited to see Ant Man 2 with us?”

“It’s Ant Man and the Wasp, Niall,” Zayn corrected.

“The fuck do I care, Zayn, I haven’t even seen the first one,” Niall shot back, slightly offended. The easiest way to crack through Niall’s easygoing facade was to tell him he’d done something wrong.

“Me neither!” Harry offered. “I don’t think I’ve seen a movie since they started being in colour, actually.”

Sometimes Harry would come out with something like that, something that reminded Louis that he was older than he could wrap his head around and far less human than he seemed.

“Harold, that sucks,” Niall said, patting Harry on the shoulder.

“I’ll play you a better movie later, darling,” Louis whispered to Harry, everyone else distracted by the line moving forward. “This one’s probably going to be rubbish.”

Harry grinned at him. “Thanks, Louis.”

Louis smiled back.

 

***

 

The movie really wasn’t that bad, but Louis couldn’t concentrate on anything except Harry by his side during the whole thing, so entranced by the colours on screen.

It was the longest Harry had gone before disappearing, Louis was sure.

He sat there for two hours on the edge of his seat, despite having no idea who any of the characters were.

It made Louis’ fingers itch for his acoustic guitar back at the hotel, for a pen and paper to try and make sense of the swirling melodies in his mind every time he looked at Harry.

It really was getting to be a problem, and he had other things to be worrying about.

 

***

 

“Did you read it yet, Lou?” Liam asked, passing over the dog-eared magazine. They’d had to buy it at the local newsagent’s, but it was their first big-time music review. What were they going to do, _not_ own a copy? Four whole pages, including the shots their management had provided from the photoshoot last month. If the article did well, Rolling Stone wanted them for an exclusive interview.

Louis felt like vomiting, a little.

“Not yet, Liam,” Louis replied softly. “Not sure I want to, to be honest.”

“It’s good, Louis. They like us.”

Louis scoffed. “‘Course it’s good. The Rogue is the best damn band in the world, Payno.”

Liam cracked a smile. “You’ve got a point there, Tommo.” He pulled Louis in for a hug, not caring about the awkward angle, sat as they were around a small table in the hotel café. “They say some nice stuff about you, actually. Your ‘star quality’ and ‘sex appeal,’” Liam laughed.

Louis patted down his pockets in search of a cigarette, groaning when he found none. He ignored what Liam had said, pushing away the magazine when he stood.

“I’ll see you later, lad,” he said, pressing a kiss to Liam’s head as he left so he wouldn’t think Louis’ bad mood was his fault.

“Go tell Harry you need a hug!” Liam called after him.

Louis flipped him off.

“Did I hear Liam say you need a hug?” Louis heard as he pushed open his door. Harry was leaning against the wall next to the door, already smirking (though how he’d heard Liam say that from three stories away, Louis had no idea). He was also, Louis noticed, not wearing the same suit he always did. Instead, he seemed to have changed into Louis’ Adidas sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. It looked good on him, even though the pants didn’t quite reach his feet.

“Hi, Harry, how are you?” Louis asked sarcastically in lieu of a response. He made his way over to the window, grabbing his pack of cigarettes on his way past the bedside table.

He could practically hear Harry frowning as he pushed open the stubborn window and tried to light his cigarette.

“Fucker,” he muttered, flicking the lighter. There was nothing but fumes in it, apparently.

A gentle hand pulled it from his grasp and set it on the windowsill.

“Here,” Harry said, standing close behind Louis and reaching for his cigarette. Louis wanted to shy away from him, but the breeze from the window was cold and Harry was warm. The instant Harry’s finger touched the cigarette, the end caught alight.

Louis let out a small cheer. Harry snorted, the noise amplified by how close to Louis’ ear he was.

Louis took a drag to cover up the fond smile that was threatening to overtake his face.

Louis tensed as he felt cautious hands wrap themselves around his waist. “Was Liam wrong? About you needing a hug?” Harry asked. Louis felt the vibrations of his voice through his back.

“Yes,” Louis replied petulantly. He fought the instinct to lean back into Harry’s hold, to relax into him.

“Yes?” Harry mimicked, retreating. “Well, in that case.”

He made to step away, but Louis whirled around and grasped his bicep to stop him. His cigarette dangled forgotten in his hand. Harry smiled at him and gently claimed it from his hand, bringing it to his mouth to take a drag.

They were still standing so close together, and Harry looked so soft in Louis’ clothes that it was hard to remember all the reasons why this shouldn’t happen.

“Thats mine, actually,” Louis whispered, wetting his lips. Harry batted his eyelashes prettily and took another drag.

Louis waited as he blew out the smoke, eyes trained on Harry’s soft pink lips. His head was a mess, but Harry’s lips were simple. They were real, and they were in front of him, and he could touch them if he wanted to.

If… If Harry wanted him to.

Harry moved to bring the cigarette back to his mouth for another pull, but Louis was quicker. He made a grab for it then stepped out of Harry’s reach.

He kept his back to Harry as he stubbed it out in the ashtray on the table, focusing on taking deep, even breaths. When he turned around again Harry was gone.

“Shit,” Louis breathed out.

 

***

 

“Do you have any more questions before I bring her in?” asked Janet. She was sitting patiently on the couch across the boys in the dressing room of the latest venue, scanning down the agenda on her clipboard.

Janet was Louis’ favourite member of their PR team. There was something comforting about her no-nonsense attitude that felt more trustworthy than any old bastard that would shoot the shit with you one minute then invade your privacy behind your back.

Louis had had more then enough of men like that. They all had.

“No, thank you, Janet, I think we’re ready,” Liam smiled.

“I’ve got a question, actually,” Louis butt in, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. Janet turned to face him attentively.

“Do we have any guarantees that this article will come to print, or will it depend on whether the editor likes what we say enough?” Louis asked evenly.

Janet made an approving noise. “Great question, Louis. The answer is no, we don’t have any guarantees. Our agency isn’t in a position to be leveraging something like that from a magazine as prestigious as _Rolling Stone,_ and frankly we’re considering it a lucky break that we even managed to score you boys an interview in the first place.”

Zayn snorted. “So, we’d better be pretty fucking interesting, is that what you’re saying?”

Janet narrowed her eyes. “It would be in everyone’s best interests if you were, yes.”

With that, she stood and left the room.

“Alright, boys, just remember the five things we’re _not_ supposed to talk about, and everything will be fine.” Liam comforted.

Louis stood and paced nervously. He needed something to do with his body, rather than just sitting and waiting for the most important interview of his life.

“Is he alright?” He heard a voice ask. It was Harry’s. Louis looked up to find him leaning over the back of the couch, giving Niall a shoulder massage. He was wearing a rather nice blue jeans and blouse combination today.

He’d been branching out with his wardrobe over the past week and a half, and it was rare that Louis saw him in the same thing twice anymore.

Louis hadn’t asked about the sudden change, but he’d made sure to compliment Harry every time. Harry always preened dramatically, coming out with some smart line about how great he looked. Louis could tell he liked the attention, though.

“I’m fine, Harry, but you should probably go,” Louis answered snappishly.

Harry curled in on himself a little, pulling away from Niall.

Zayn turned to face him. “We’ve got an important interview now, he gets nervous,” he explained.

“We’re all nervous, Zayn, there’s no excuse for being a dick,” Niall replied, shooting Louis a scathing look.

Louis’ shoulders lowered. He always knew he’d gone too far when Niall was upset with him.

“I’m sorry, lads, but this is really important for us. I don't want to fuck it up.” He sighed.

Niall shrugged and looked away.

Harry made his was over to Louis carefully, like approaching a wild animal.

He came to a stop only a foot away from him, blocking off Louis’ view of the boys behind him. It felt like he and Harry were the only ones in the room, then.

Harry met his gaze searchingly.

“Do you need anything?” he asked softly. It was the first time in weeks he’d asked Louis that, he realised.

It was a punch in the gut to hear the words again, especially right now. Right now when he _did_ need a lot of things, but he couldn’t fucking ask Harry for any of them when his ‘sole purpose was to fulfil his master’s needs’, and that wasn’t anything resembling positive fucking consent, now, was it.

Louis was saved from having to lie and say no by a brisk knock at the door.

Harry was gone by the time the interviewer stepped into the room, and Louis was back on the couch smiling politely.

She was an older woman with a big attitude and an even bigger leather jacket. Louis liked her at once.

“Good morning, lads, my name is Mary. Lovely to meet you,” she said in a perfunctory way. “Everyone ready?”

She settled in to the couch opposite them, pulling out an old tape recorder and placing it gently on the table. She glanced up at them for a nod before switching it on.

Louis was expecting her to pull out some pen and paper, maybe a phone to take notes on, but she just leaned back and studied them.

Then, she smiled. “So, The Rogue? How did it all start?”

Louis let out a breath. This was an easy question, one they’d answered a million times before. Liam jumped right in as he always did, the only one of them who had never grown bored of this story.

“We were just four ordinary lads, really. We were in different years at school, but we all tried out for the same production of _Guys and Dolls,_ and that’s how we met, actually. We clicked pretty much immediately—“

“Bunch of right troublemakers, we were,” Niall interrupted, laughing.

“D’you remember the time with Mrs. Kranski’s car?” Zayn added, eyes filled with mirthful nostalgia.

“—anyway,” Liam continued, giggling, “we were all interested in making music, writing and singing and all that,” he waved his hands vaguely, “and we just decided to form a band. You know, for fun.”

“Niall on lead guitar, Liam on backing guitar, Zayn on drums and myself on bass, of course,” Louis added, knowing the average reader wasn’t going to know that.

Mary shot him a considering glance, then smiled. “Of course.”

“The first, like, twenty songs we wrote together were absolute garbage,” Liam continued.

“Unlistenable,” Louis added, dragging the word out for comedic effect.

“A right mess,” said Niall.

“I thought they were alright,” defended Zayn. Then, he giggled. “Nah, they were shit.”

Mary nodded. “But you kept trying?”

“Yeah, we played a couple small gigs on weekends and whatnot. We were lucky enough that our families were all supportive and drove us places,” Liam said. “Then after Louis finished school, he drove us places.”

Louis snorted, remembering the year he’d spent hanging around Wolverhampton with nothing to do all week, just waiting around for his boys to be done so they could have a real crack at making it big.

“We moved to London after that, hopped around from dive bar to dive bar, taking whatever gigs we could get.”

Mary scratched her cheek. She didn’t look bored per se, but Louis was suddenly aware how similar their success story must be to pretty much every other band out there. It made him feel a little defensive.

“Then Alice from Hades Records scouted us, and we had a contract with an independent label within two years of moving,” Liam finished slowly.

Mary smiled thinly. “And now here you are, two albums in. Any plans for a third?”

“Yeah, actually, we’ve got about half of it written already,” Louis jumped in, genuinely excited by the topic. “The sound’s gonna be a little different from the last two, we wanted to try something a little more folksy, with our own twist, o’course.”

Mary looked interested. “I know you write all your own songs, boys. Tell me, do you think that’s part of your success? That your fans can listen to your music and get to know you through it?”

Louis shifted in his seat. He knew where this line of questioning was headed.

“Yeah, that’s totally right,” Niall answered, engaged. He loved talking about their fans. All of them did, really. “We put a lot of ourselves into our lyrics—or, well, me and Tommo do, Zayn does the arrangements mostly and Liam’s good at melodies. But we’re definitely proud of every song we’ve put out in the last four years.”

Mary leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. She was the kind of person who took up a lot of space, and Louis envied her for it. He had to work to be paid attention to, but Mary was hard to not notice.

“You should be proud, lads. They’re wonderful songs. I’ve noticed you deal mostly with themes of family and belonging, in amongst the dancier tracks. There are only a few that deal with romance, which is rare in this industry, and the ones that do all seem to use gender neutral pronouns. Do you care to comment on that?”

Louis swallowed. He’d been prepared for this question, of course, they all had. That didn’t make it any easier to form a coherent answer.

Unsurprisingly, it was Liam who answered first. “Yeah, well, we write a lot about those kinds of things because that’s what inspires us and makes us happy. None of us really have a serious romance in our lives, unfortunately, do we boys?” Liam laughed a little, breaking the tension.

“It’s a source of near-constant ennui,” Niall sniffed delicately, then cackled.

Louis smirked a little at Niall’s antics, but the question had only been half answered. He leaned forward in his seat and fixed his fringe reflexively, clearing his throat. Mary looked at him expectantly, but not unkindly.

“The reason our love songs have gender neutral pronouns is partly because we don’t want to exclude any member of our audience from hearing and relating to them,” Louis started. “But it’s also because we want to be as honest as we can in our songs, and using either he or her pronouns wouldn’t be honest for all of us.”

Mary smiled her first genuine smile of the day.

Liam jumped in to finish Louis’ scrambling explanation, no doubt sensing his struggle to articulate what he meant.

“We’re a band of queer men, is what Louis means,” Liam grinned. He looked so comfortable, sitting there and coming out to a reporter. Louis expected to feel jealous, but instead he just felt proud. “Niall here is asexual—“ Niall cheered, “—Zayn is demi,” Zayn gave a sarcastic salute, “I’m bisexual, and Louis is—“

“Gay,” Louis interrupted, not wanting the word to come from anyone’s lips but his own. “I’m gay.”

It felt like a massive weight off his chest just to say that. Not that he hadn’t come out before—far from it—but here, now, to _Rolling Stone,_ in the article that had the potential to make or break their careers… He was almost giddy with it.

Mary reached forward unexpectedly to switch off her recorder. She made eye contact with each of them, carefully meeting their gazes before she spoke. “I just wanted to say, off the record, that I think you’re all incredibly brave, and you’re exactly what the next generation of LGBT youth needs right now. My daughter is a huge fan of you all, and she told me when she came out that your songs were big part of the reason why. So, thank you.”

Louis’ heart ached. He leaned forward. “After we’re done here, I’d love to sign something for her, Mary,” he said softly, smiling.

She looked surprised for a moment, then she cleared her throat. “Yes, thank you, Louis. She’d love that.”

Louis nodded. “Of course.”

Mary unpaused her recording.

“So, boys, walk me through your sound. What are your musical influences?”

 

***

 

Louis was vibrating with energy that night on stage, singing his heart out and playing his golden-stringed bass like his life depended on it. He beamed out at the audience—about 250 crammed into the local music hall, dancing and singing along. Based on what Mary had said as she wrapped up the interview, they’d all know within the month.

For the first time in a long time, Louis was more excited than scared.

 

***

 

Louis didn’t even pause to say hi to Harry on his way into the bedroom that night, too busy Google searching for the nearest reputable tattoo parlour. He was going first thing tomorrow, he’d already made up his mind.

“Hi, Louis, did the show go well? And the interview?” Harry asked, trailing behind and only sounding a little bit miffed at being ignored.

“Hmm?” Louis said, pausing at the foot of the bed and turning towards him.

Harry smiled confusedly. “I asked how the show went.”

Louis broke out into a grin. “Fucking smashed it, it was _ace.”_

Harry grinned back. “Yay!” He cheered cutely, throwing his hands in the air. It lifted up the soft shirt he was wearing, exposing his stomach. Because magical genies had adorably biteable stomachs too, apparently.

Louis tucked his phone into his pocket. “This is cute,” he said, pulling on one of the small curls escaping the scarf Harry had wrapped around his head. Harry blushed, eyes wide. He looked a little dazed from having Louis’ full attention all of a sudden.

“Thanks?” he said.

Louis nodded. “Listen, Haz, I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I was just stressed about the interview, but that’s no excuse.”

Harry frowned, like he hadn’t been expecting an apology. “That’s okay, it’s what I’m here for. Whatever you need.”

Louis felt his good mood drain away just like that.

“That’s complete bullshit, Harry,” he groused, taking a step back. Harry looked like he’d been slapped. “You’re a sentient person-being-human,” Louis stuttered, “you don’t deserve to be treated like shit.”

Harry shook his head. “I deserve whatever it is you think I do. I’m yours.”

Louis had to turn away for a moment to gather himself, surprised at how angry Harry’s words were making him. After the day he’d had, that small taste of freedom… He was filled with a righteous fury at the very thought that Harry couldn’t have the same.

He spotted the lamp in the corner of the room, sitting delicately on his bedside table as always. He marched towards it and picked it up.

“Louis? What are you—“ Harry asked, panicked.

Louis turned. “This is it, right? This keeps you trapped?” he asked, waving with the lamp.

Harry held his arms out pleadingly. “Put it down, please, Louis.”

“If I break it, will you be free?” Louis asked, desperate.

He looked between Harry’s stricken face and the twisted pattern of bronze in his hand.

He felt Harry come closer, but didn’t look up from the lamp.

“It doesn’t work like that, Louis,” Harry said, voice quiet and sad. Louis tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

Louis closed his eyes and sighed. He felt Harry’s hand close over his own on the lamp, delicately pulling it from his grasp.

“It’s just a curse, love,” Harry comforted, in the same way you might say ‘don’t worry, it’s just a paper cut’, or ‘it’s only a small spill, it won’t stain’.

Harry reached past Louis to place the lamp back on the bedside table with a soft _thunk._ He was so close that Louis could smell him. He didn’t smell like you would expect a genie to smell like.

He just smelled… Human. Like a normal human man who hadn’t showered in a couple days.

It was more comforting than anything he’d said so far.

Louis opened his eyes. Harry’s glowing green eyes met his evenly, barely even blinking.

“Are you alright now, Louis?” he asked.

Louis shook his head. He licked his lips, and Harry’s eyes caught the motion. “I’m going to get a tattoo tomorrow,” Louis said softly. He didn’t quite know why, but… “Will you come with me?”

Harry smiled. He didn’t ask if Louis needed him to, he just nodded.

Then he was gone.

 

***

 

“Does it hurt? Getting a tattoo?”

They were sitting in the small waiting area at _The Anchor and Rope,_ Harry’s lamp sitting unassumingly under a table next to them. Louis was fidgeting and Harry was flipping through a folder of tattoo designs. Louis looked over at him and saw his was eyeing a lovely design of two swallows, facing each other mid-flight.

Louis smiled and thumbed over his rope tattoo fondly. “Yeah, a little.”

Harry nodded. He turned the page.

“What are you going to get?”

He’d been a bit subdued this morning, not that Louis had expected any different after last night. Still, it was strange. Harry was normally so full of life.

“You’ll see. No spoilers.”

Harry cracked a smile. “Awww, but Louis,” he whined, shifting closer. “Please?”

Louis shook his head with a laugh.

Harry pouted for a moment. “Well, then, I’m not telling you what I’m going to get,” he said, turning back to his folder.

Louis whipped his head around to stare at him. “You wanna get something?”

Harry shrugged coyly. “Maybe.” He sent a sidelong smirk at Louis.

Louis narrowed his eyes.

His name was called before he could do anything stupid, though.

Harry didn’t come with him as he took a seat in the chair. Louis suspected it was to keep up the rouse that he was getting his own tattoo.

Hell, maybe he was telling the truth.

Louis’ head swam a little.

“Sounds simple enough, mate,” the artist said after Louis explained his idea. They were short and pretty heavily tattooed themselves, two full sleeves of brightly coloured designs.

Louis pulled off his shoe—he’d worn his Ugg boots for the occasion—and pushed up the hem of his sweatpants. The artist pulled his ankle into the position they wanted it and got to work shaving and cleaning the area.

“Should only take about thirty minutes, by the by,” they said, humming to themselves.

Louis smiled.

In the end, it only took about twenty minutes. Louis snapped a pic of the tattoo before the artist covered it up with a bandage, zoning out through their explanation of how to properly take care of it. This wasn’t exactly his first rodeo.

“Have a nice day, mate,” they said as Louis hopped down from the chair. Louis winced a little as the movement jostled the fresh tattoo. Hopefully it would be healed enough in time for their next concert. They had a little break from tour at the moment—only a week, but it should be enough time.

“Same to you,” Louis said, grinning over his shoulder.

Harry wasn’t in the waiting room when Louis hobbled his way over. Louis frowned and asked the man at the front desk about it as he paid.

“Oh, yeah, he should be done in about ten minutes, if you just wanna wait,” he said, not looking up from the game of solitaire on his laptop.

Louis gulped. Harry hadn’t been pulling his leg, then. “You should put that eight on the nine over there,” Louis offered.

The man made a noise of thanks, mouse clicking away.

Louis took a seat and waited. He tried not to let his mind wander, puzzling out which tattoo Harry would get.

The truth was, Louis had no idea. He realised, then, that he didn’t actually know very much about Harry.

He knew a few things, like the slow way he blinked when he was tired, his favourite colour and type of bird and fruit, but he knew fuck all about the things that were important to him. Did he have any family, at some point? How long had he been stuck in that lamp?

Louis sighed and shrunk down in his chair, feeling like a shitty friend. If he could call himself that.

Was that what Harry was? A friend?

Louis was saved from his self-doubt by Harry appearing in the doorway. He was smiling sunnily. Louis couldn’t see a bandage anywhere on his arms, so it must have been covered by his shirt. He was overflowing with curiosity, but. It wasn’t really any of his business, was it?

Louis hopped up and intercepted Harry at the front desk, whipping out his card before he could even _think_ of conjuring magic money or whatever bullshit he was planning to pay for his tattoo with.

Harry smiled, draping himself over Louis’ left side. Louis shot a glance at him from the corner of his eye, wondering why he was being so tactile. He noticed that Harry looked loopy, almost… stoned.

Ah.

 _One of those, then,_ Louis thought, not really knowing what to do with that information.

In the end, he just filed it away in a little box in the back of his mind marked ‘Harry’.

Harry pressed his cold nose into Louis neck while he was trying to punch his PIN in. Louis jolted then giggled, slinging an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

“Alright, junkie, lets get you home,” he muttered, sliding his card back in his pocket. The receptionist offered a distracted ‘have a nice day!’ as Louis tugged Harry out of the shop.

“You as well, Marco!” Harry called over his shoulder, stumbling a little.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Just get in the car, okay?” he laughed, pushing Harry towards the passenger side of the rental he’d gotten this morning. The boys would be in town for a couple more days before heading up to Manchester for their next show—biggest one of the tour, Louis was bricking it—so he felt the need to source his own transportation. He was really starting to miss his flat in London, shitty and small as it was.

Touring was excellent for a lot of things, but being homesick wasn’t one of them.

Harry winced as he crawled into the car, curling up on his left side. Louis watched the action shrewdly.

“So you got something on your back then, yeah?” he asked as he pulled onto the road. The movements of driving jostled the tape around his bandaged ankle, but it was a manageable pain.

Harry made a noise of assent, busy staring out the window. Or perhaps just busy wishing Louis would mind his own business.

Louis sighed. He shot a glance at the rear view mirror and spotted Harry’s lamp in the back seat.

Of course.

He considered flicking the radio on, but his head was full enough with melodies as it was.

Harry disappeared the second he walked into the room, which Louis had been expecting. He spent the afternoon hunched over his beat-up acoustic, scribbling notes in his laptop and plucking out chords.

By the time he looked up from his work, it was well past midnight. And he had the workings of a full song in front of him.

 

***

 

Louis waited a few days for the fresh tattoo to heal a little before he showed the boys.

“Louis! That’s sick!” was Liam’s reaction, hand hovering over his ankle.

Niall wrapped his arms around Louis’ shoulders from where he was standing behind the couch. He didn’t say anything, but Louis understood. He patted Niall’s hand.

Zayn passed Louis the blunt he was smoking. “Very cool, Tommo,” was his input.

Louis accepted it with a smile. As he took a hit he studied the small triangle, now filled in with the colours of the rainbow flag. He blew out the smoke with a grin.

“I also think it’s cool,” offered Harry. Louis hadn’t even noticed him turning up, but there he was, sitting cross-legged on the coffee table of the hotel room they were camped out in, decked out in floral-printed flared pants and a frilly blouse.

“Hiya, Harry!” Niall said. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Harry shrugged demurely. “I’ve been around.”

Louis nudged his knee with his foot. Harry caught his calf in his hand, fingers clasping just inches above his tattoo. He pulled Louis’ foot in his lap, studying the colours.

Louis resisted the urge to shrink away from the scrutiny. This tattoo was meant to be seen, out of all of the one’s he’d gotten.

It just felt strangely intimate, Harry’s warm hand on his skin.

Louis cleared his throat. “I actually had something to run by you lads,” he said.

Liam looked attentive. Niall squeezed his shoulders. Zayn raised his eyebrows as he took a hit.

“It’s a song. I think it’ll be good for the next album, but I was hoping, if you’d help me polish it up a little, we could play it on Saturday.”

There was a moment of contemplative silence. Harry traced a pattern into Louis’ ankle, avoiding the tattoo.

“Let’s hear it then, sunshine,” Niall said, disappearing for a moment before coming back with Louis’ acoustic. He passed it to him with a smile then took a seat next to Harry on the table.

Louis organised his legs to balance the acoustic in his lap, careful not to disturb Harry’s hold.

“It’s not, um… Finished, or anything,” Louis warned. Niall waved his hands dismissively.

“Lou, we’ve been writing together for years. I promise it won’t be worse than that rubbish chicken nuggets song Niall and I wrote at 3am that one time,” Liam offered.

Louis snorted at the memory.

“Hey! Watch your mouth, Liam. ‘I Love KFC’ had the makings to be one of the greatest hits of our generation before you killed the dream,” Niall defended. He was joking, but he also wasn’t.

“Alright, fuckers, you gonna shut up and let me play or what?” Louis asked impatiently.

Zayn cackled.

Harry poked him in the foot.

Louis smiled at his boys and started playing.

“ _Make a little conversation, so long that I’ve been waiting, to let go of myself and feel alive,”_ he started, voice scratchy from the smoke.

The boys listened raptly as he played, following the chords with their eyes. He could practically see the wheels turning in their brains, working out an arrangement and parts for themselves.

They joined in on the third repeat of the chorus, Liam on high harmony, Zayn on Louis’ octave, and Niall singing bass. It sounded fuller, with them all singing. Like a proper song.

There was a beat of silence after it was over. Louis looked up to meet Harry’s gaze and saw his eyes shining with tears. Louis sat forward, reaching for him, and then—

 _Thunk._ Louis’ heel met the table as Harry dematerialised.

Niall jumped at the loud noise, and the silence turned from awe-filled to confused.

Well then.

“Harry hated it!” Louis whined dramatically, flinging himself backwards into the couch and crossing his arms like a five-year-old who’d been denied sweets. His dramatics succeeded in breaking the ice, and soon the boys were laughing and tossing out ideas for the song. Louis got his computer out to add their suggestions in, making notes of who was singing what lines.

It was a great afternoon, in all.

Even though it felt like it was missing someone.

 

***

 

Harry was acting very strange in the days leading up to The Rogue’s Manchester concert—the final night of their tour.

He would appear about once a day, like normal, but he’d just loiter in front of Louis for five minutes of tense, creepy silence, then fuck off again.

Louis suspected he was waiting for Louis to ask him for something, to _tell him what he needed,_ but. Fucked if he shouldn’t know better by now, was Louis’ stance.

It was kind of disheartening, really. Louis had felt like they were getting somewhere, the two of them. Somewhere resembling friends.

But Harry was a magical genie that Louis had accidentally bound to himself and apparently that wasn’t going to change.

 

***

 

Their soundcheck of Home went smoothly—a little too smoothly. In show business, it was a sure sign of trouble when nothing was going wrong.

“Can we maybe get some green lights during the last chorus?” Louis asked, taking a gulp of water.

The lighting guy—Steve—just nodded and scribbled something in his notebook. “No problem, Lou. Say, is Harry coming to this one?” He looked up excitedly.

Louis snorted. “Fucked if I know, mate, he does what he wants.”

Steve smiled fondly. “I don’t doubt that for a second. Tell him he’s welcome round for dinner next time you lads are over if I don’t see him, will you?”

Louis clapped Steve on the shoulder. “You got it, boss.”

Steve chortled. “Back on to stage with you, you menace,” he said, pushing Louis gently towards the curtains.

Louis laughed. He checked his phone as he walked back over to where the boys were packing up their instruments. Three hours til show time, and he had 23 text messages and five missed calls.

“Fuck,” Louis said, heart rate climbing. He thumbed through the text messages, all from different family and friends, a couple industry contacts, congratulating him.

“Boys,” Louis started. They looked up. “The article’s out.”

“What? How?” Liam said, scrambling over to Louis. “A week isn’t enough time to publish an article.”

“I don’t fucking know, Liam, but I’ve got a phone full of people congratulating me on coming out so _something’s_ bloody happened!”

Niall placed a comforting hand on Louis’ shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, Lou, don’t worry.”

“It’s just a little earlier than we expected, yeah? No dramas,” Zayn added.

Louis took a deep breath. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m just gonna give Janet a quick call, I’ll be right back.”

He made his way backstage, getting a little lost trying to find the badly-marked exit door. He pushed his way outside robotically, then collapsed against the brick wall of the building.

“This is Janet,” barked a voice in his ear.

Louis cleared his throat. “Hi, Janet, it’s Louis.”

Janet said something unintelligible away from the receiver, then, “we’re just in contact with _Rolling Stone_ now trying to sort this out. Apparently they had a bit of a promotional slip up and the intern who runs the snapchat account sent out a picture of the mock-up front page for next month’s issue, which included the title of the article about you. ‘The Rogue: Up And Coming and Coming Out.’”

Louis snorted. “Wow.”

Janet was quiet for a second. “I don’t believe this was an accident. _Rolling Stone_ wanted to drum up hype about their next issue, now they’ve got it. The question is if you want our agency to push the pencil on this or if you’re happy enough to have been fucked over. I’m ready to let this go if you are. Your Spotify streams have already gone through the roof.”

Louis pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and struggled to light it one-handed. He wanted a moment to think about it, but if Janet needed an answer, then an answer he would give.

“What could we do about it anyway, refuse to do another interview? With _Rolling Stone?_ They’ve got us backed into a corner and they know it. It’s their fucking story.” He blew out the smoke angrily. “Let it go. You’ve got other clients and we’ve got a show to do.”

Janet sighed. “Always a pleasure working with you, Louis.”

The call ended.

Louis sent off a couple replies to the flood of messages he’d gotten—just to the important people, of course, like his mum and his sisters. Then he slid his phone back in his pocket and enjoyed his cigarette.

When he made his way back inside, he heard laughter. He recognised it as Niall’s and Liam’s and followed the sound, storm cloud above his head drifting away. They were in the dressing room, it seemed. So was most of the crew, Louis noticed as he pushed the door open.

They were sitting and standing about watching Harry… juggle.  

“What’s all this, then,” Louis whispered after squeezing himself in between Zayn and Niall on the couch.

“Paula found out Harry could juggle but nobody believed her,” Niall whispered back, “So Harry bet us all fifty pounds he could juggle anything we gave him.”

Louis looked over at Harry, noticing the deep frown of concentration on his face as he spun two water bottles, a hairbrush, someone’s wallet and Louis' capo in the air. It was definitely an amazing display of talent.

After a couple more seconds, Harry caught all the items in his hands and grinned smugly. The room erupted into loud cheers. Harry bowed.

“Alright, good show, fun’s over, back to work!” Paul barked, ushering the crew out of the room. “Got a show to put on!”

On his way past Harry, Paul paused. He plucked the wallet from his hand, reached inside, and pulled out a fifty. “I’ll give you ten more if you can get these devils dressed and ready on time,” he joked, sending a death glare to the couch where all four boys were seated.

Harry laughed, taking the note. “I’ll do my best,” he sassed.

Paul clapped him on the shoulder then sped out of the room. “Ninety-three minutes til showtime!” he called over his shoulder.

Louis pulled his phone out nervously, opening his notes app. Paul's reminder had woken him up a little; he had a job to do tonight that wasn't getting distracted watching Harry fling random objects in the air or panicking about his public image. He wasn't really worried he'd forget the words to his own song, but he wanted to refresh his memory just in case since the boys had agreed to let him sing the verses solo.

“Where’d you learn to juggle like that, Harry?” Niall asked after a brief moment of silence.

Harry seemed to startle a little. Louis looked up from his phone and saw Harry’s gaze snap from him to Niall almost guiltily.

“I have a lot of spare time,” Harry answered slowly.

Niall winced.

Louis looked at Harry's blank expression and locked his phone cautiously. He walked over to Harry and plucked the capo out of his hands with raised eyebrows.

“I need that, thank you,” he said cheekily, clipping it to his belt so he wouldn’t lose it. Harry turned his whole body towards him like a flower following the sun. Louis heard the other boys start chatting amongst themselves, but his attention was on Harry.

“Plan on sticking around for the gig?” he asked, trying to pass it off as if Harry’s answer didn’t matter to him.

Harry frowned. “Did something happen?” he evaded.

Louis shrugged and crossed his arms. “Our coming our story leaked ahead of schedule. It’s not a big deal.”

Harry looked saddened. “I’m so sorry, Louis. You all deserved that to happen on your own terms.”

The way he said it—a handful of empathy and a heaping of the kind of certainty that could only come from personal experience—made Louis tilt his head in curiosity.

“How did you end up in that lamp, Harry? What happened to you?” He stepped forward into Harry’s space. He knew he was pushing, but Harry had never spoken a word about his past and it was beginning to be a bit of an itch on Louis’ mind.

Harry took a step back, eyes wide with alarm.

Louis paused. He ran a hand threw his hair frustratedly. He gentled his voice when he spoke next; there’d been enough upset today. “I’m sorry, Harry, you don’t have to tell me. It’s not any of my business.”

Harry relaxed a little. “I’ll tell you if you need to know,” he said.

Louis snapped his head up, ready to tell Harry off for the billionth time about respecting his own autonomy, but then he noticed the twist to Harry’s lips and the shine in his already shining eyes.  

Louis was being fucked with.

“You know, I have no idea why all of our crew thinks you’re so bloody sweet, you’re a bigger menace than I am!” Louis laughed, poking Harry in the stomach.

Harry flinched back and giggled, pushing Louis’ hand away. “Nooooo!” he cried, “I’m innocent!”

“Louis! Stop terrorising our magic man!” Liam called from across the room.

Louis gaped indignantly. “Why don’t you stop being a nosy little—”

Louis’ words were cut off as Harry clamped a hand over his mouth, coming up behind him and wrapping a hand around his waist, well and truly trapping Louis.

Louis was about the wriggle out of his hold when he noticed Paul loitering in the doorway with a judging look on his face. “Eighty-two minutes to showtime, boys,” he warned.

“I’ve got everything under control, Paul,” Harry said smoothly. Louis twisted his head around in Harry’s grip to see his innocent smile.

Paul huffed then hurried off.

Harry didn’t release Louis once he was gone like Louis expected him to. Instead, he started swaying them gently. It was kind of nice, if Louis was honest.

But he obviously couldn’t allow it. Big bad rocker reputation, and all that. He licked Harry’s hand and sprinted out of his hold once he drew it back in disgust.

“The Tommo can’t be caged!” Louis yelled, jumping on to the coffee table in victory.

“Alright, bloody hell,” Harry laughed, wiping his hand off on his lovely satin shirt.

“Does The Tommo still want to play Home tonight?” Zayn asked, standing in front of Louis with an open expression on his face.

Louis had managed to forget, for a second there, about the leak.

They were about to perform to their biggest crowd so far—biggest crowd just for them, not for a festival—and everyone in that crowd was going to _know._

Louis thought about the fans he’d met, the interactions he’d had on twitter, the gentle way that they were all so accepting and full of love. He thought about what Mary said, about her daughter.

“Yes,” he decided. “We’re playing it.”

Louis hopped off the table and snapped his fingers, pulling his shirt off. Everyone shot to attention and followed suit, changing into their stage clothes. Somewhere in between Niall throwing his shirt on the floor and loudly declaring it had been shrunk in the wash and Zayn patiently explaining he was putting it on backwards, Harry whispered something in Louis’ ear.

“It’s going to be amazing.” His breath was warm against Louis’ cheek, as warm as his hand had been. Louis turned his head to look into his eyes, needing that second of contact before the brightness made him look away. Harry smiled, pressed a hand to Louis’ cheek. “You’ll see.”

Then he was gone.

 

***

 

_Rogue! Rogue! Rogue! Rogue!_

Louis stretched his arms over his head, grinning wolfishly. “Hear that, boys? Think they’re up for it,” he said, looking at Niall, Liam and Zayn.

Zayn grinned right back, bouncing on the soles of his feet. Liam fiddled with the strap of his guitar and Niall guzzled water like his life depended on it.

“Think they’ve all heard the news by now?” Liam asked, glancing up at Louis. There was a touch of uncertainty in his gaze. Louis could relate.

Louis pushed his bass around so it hang from his back and pulled Liam into a tight hug. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.

“Alrighty, boys, you ready to rock and roll?” Paul asked, popping his head around the corner from the sound booth.

Louis looked at his boys. He looked at the lamp sitting in the corner.

He nodded. “We’re ready.”

The first thing Louis noticed about the crowd was how fucking _big_ it was, 2000 people packed into the repurposed theatre. He couldn’t even see everyone in the stalls, it was so crowded. The mosh pit was frothing and wild, pushing against the barrier with the energy of an ocean in a storm.

And the whole place was covered in rainbows.

Louis spotted more pride flags than he could count, as well as ace flags and bi flags and pan flags and lesbian flags and trans flags—he didn’t even recognise a couple of them, they were so varied. The boys stood there in silence after they’d taken their positions at their mics, gobsmacked. The crowd didn’t seem to mind; if anything, the screams increased in volume.

Louis licked his lips. He leaned towards the microphone. Normally Liam talked first, but.

“Good evening, Manchester.” The screams became deafening. Louis swallowed the lump in his throat, but his voice was still thick with emotion when he continued, “you look… incredible. Thank you so much.”

The flags went wild, everyone waving them all across the theatre.

Liam seemed to wake from his stupor. “We are The Rogue, it's so lovely to be able to perform for you beautiful people tonight. This is Little Black Dress.”

Zayn started the beat, Niall’s fingers flew over the strings of his guitar, Louis plucked out the baseline, and Liam started singing.

The crowd sang along.

 

***

 

Louis’ head was swimming by the time they stumbled off stage after the encore, cheering and jumping all over each other.

“That was so fucking sick!” Liam enthused, still beaming despite being drenched in water from Louis’ onstage antics.

“Best crowd we’ve ever had, hands down,” Niall agreed.

Zayn slung an arm over his shoulder. “You smashed it tonight, babe, you were a _beast_ ,” he praised, ruffling Niall's hair.

He wasn't wrong, it was the hardest he'd ever seen Niall shred. That was true for all of them, now that he thought about it. He’d thought his strings were going to snap again a couple times, but Harry's promise held true.

Liam turned to Louis excitedly. “Did you see how much they loved Home? I swear I spotted ten different people crying.”

Louis preened. “I know, I know, it was incredible. I honestly never expected…” he trailed off, still in awe.

What he'd been expecting was ambivalence, when it came down to it. For most of their fans to be accepting, maybe for a couple of pricks to make a fuss and leave, maybe for a few of their queer fans to be supportive, but that. That wasn't just acceptance.

The energy in that theatre, from every single fan in there, was _pride._

Louis had no idea how much he'd _needed_ that, how much–

Louis stood stock still, breath caught in his throat.

Fuck.

_Harry._

The boys seemed to realise they'd left him behind, turning in staring in concern.

Louis ignored them, wheeling on the nearest crew member. “Have you seen Harry around?” he asked, seething.

She shook her head meekly. “I haven't seen him since the juggling thing. Is everything okay?”

Louis shook his head. He pushed passed the boys and flung open the emergency exit. There weren't any fans round this side of the building, thank God.

“Harry!” he hissed. “Get your ass here _right now.”_

“Louis!” Harry appeared behind him. Louis wheeled on him, noticing the dazed expression on Harry’s face. “That was _brilliant,_ you were amazing–”

Louis crowded him against the brick wall of the theatre, standing on his tiptoes and getting right up in his face.

“Tell me you didn't fucking make that happen, you wonderful magical _arsehole._ ”

Harry’s face was carefully blank for a moment, then he broke eye contact for just a split second to look at his feet.

It told Louis everything he needed to know.

“Jesus _Christ,_ Harry! What the fuck!” He took a step back, turned away, started pacing. “So none of it was fucking _real?_ Why would you fucking do this to me, to _them,_ I don't understand…” he trailed off, anger fading away as quickly as it came.

Now, he just felt sad. Betrayed.

Harry didn't even say anything, he just stood there with his head lowered like a dog who’d been left outside in the cold.

“Will you fucking say something, Harry? Please?” Louis asked coldly.

Harry raised his head, meeting Louis’ gaze with a fire in his eyes.

“It's my purpose, Louis.”

Louis seethed. “Oh, it's your _purpose_ to manipulate two thousand people? To make me think, for once in my life, that someone _had my back?_ ”

Harry scoffed, offended. “I didn't manipulate anyone, Louis. Your fans love you.”

Louis threw his hands in the air. “Well what _did_ you bloody do, then?”

Instead of answering, Harry stepped away from the wall. He waved his hand vaguely, and something materialised in its wake. Harry caught it as it floated down to the ground, holding it out to Louis.

It was a pride flag.

Louis had wondered how the fans had managed to organise so many flags in the couple of hours since the story had leaked, but this. This had never crossed his mind.

“You _motherfucker._ ”

Louis marched forward, knocked Harry’s hand out of the way, and pulled Harry’s face against his in a bruising kiss.

Harry made a noise of confusion, then he melted into Louis, leaning down a little and wrapping his hands around Louis’ waist.

Louis’ body felt like a live wire at just the press of Harry’s lips against his own, but he couldn't make himself stop now if he wanted to.

He slowed the kiss down a little, gentling his hold on Harry’s face.

He could stop himself if _Harry_ wanted him to.

“Is this okay?” Louis asked, pulling back and studying Harry’s face.

Harry looked utterly blissed out, which was as flattering as it was funny. He pulled his eyes open with what looked like great effort, taking note of the distance Louis had put between them.

“Noooooooooo,” Harry whined, and Louis’ heart almost fell out of his ass, but then Harry followed it up with a mournful, “come back,” and chased Louis’ mouth with his own.

Louis smiled into the kiss, barely able to kiss back from the happiness that was oozing from every pore if his skin.

“Yeah?” He asked, pressing kisses to Harry’s nose, cheeks and eyelids. Harry hummed under the attention, squeezing Louis’ hips. His hands fit so well there.

“Yes. Anything you’ll give me,” Harry whispered, turning his head to run his cheek against Louis’, seemingly not caring about the beard burn.

Louis let out the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, letting his head thump against Harry's chest and feeling Harry wrap his arms around him protectively.

Louis laughed a little against Harry’s soft cotton shirt. He felt the vibrations as Harry hummed a questioning noise.

“I’m just happy, darling,” Louis said, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s throat. “But I'm not going to give you anything until we talk about this first.”

Louis pulled back and stepped out of Harry's hold regretfully.

Harry looked like he'd rather tell a child Santa wasn't real, but he nodded.

Louis opened his mouth to—well, to take it back and say fuck it and keep kissing Harry, if he was honest, but he didn't get a chance to.

“Lads! There you are,” Niall called, leaning haphazardly out of the doorway back into the theatre. “Come on, everyone's going out to celebrate the tour ending!”

Louis half expected Harry to disappear, but he just smiled at Niall and made to follow him back into the theatre.

On his way past Louis, he brushed his hand along his back and leaned down for a second to whisper, “later.”

Louis grinned and followed.

 

***

 

When Louis had pictured ‘going out to celebrate tour ending’, he’d imagined the crew and the band crowded into a couple booths at the local pub, not this. Everyone was well on their way to plastered except Louis, and the aggressively loud EDM music of the club they were in was drilling itself into Louis’ brain.

He had never realised how little fun nights like this were when you were sober.

“Louuuuuuu,” drawled Zayn as he draped himself over Louis’ back. “Come dance!”

Louis huffed. “But if I come and dance, who will look after the bags?” He asked sweetly, gesturing to the piles of coats and bags strewn across the table he was sat at.

Zayn frowned, the puzzle too complex for his drunk mind. Then, he grinned. “Harry will!” He cheered, pointing to the corner of the room. Louis looked over in surprise—he’d thought Harry had left hours ago, once the booze started pouring and the chatting turned to giggling. But sure enough there he was, loitering in the corner and staring at Louis with the kind of intensity that would be insanely creepy if Louis hadn’t pressed him against a wall and ravaged him just a few hours ago.

“You know what, Zayn,” Louis said pleasantly, rising from the stool and pulling his coat on. “How about _you_ look after the bags.”

Zayn’s face dropped. “Okay,” he said sadly, hunching into the seat Louis had just vacated. Louis laughed and fetched him some water from the bar quickly.

“Drink up, babe, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he comforted, rubbing Zayn’s back. Zayn took an obedient gulp of water, giving Louis a shaky thumbs up.

Louis turned back to Harry and nodded towards the exit. Harry grinned and rushed to meet him there, his expression turning him from serial killer to excited child in a split second.

“Hi,” he said when Louis reached him.

“Hi yourself, magic man.” Louis smiled, reaching over to take Harry’s hand and pull him out of the smoky club.

The air outside was a shock to Louis’ clammy skin, and he shivered inside his coat.

Harry let go of his hand for a moment, then Louis felt something drape over his shoulders. It was another coat, fluffy and warm and big enough to fit the jean jacket he was wearing inside.

Louis threaded his arms through the sleeves gratefully.

“Thanks,” he said softly, pressing a sweet kiss to Harry’s cheek.

Harry raised a hand to the spot reverently, dimples carving themselves into his face.

They started walking. It was only a ten minute walk back to the hotel, but the first few dragged by in silence.

“How come you weren’t drinking like the rest of them?” Harry asked suddenly.

Louis sighed. “It’s a bit of a shit story, if I’m honest.”

Harry lifted their joined hands carefully, meeting Louis’ gaze and pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand.

“I love shit stories,” he said.

Louis snorted. “I’ll tell you, but you’ve gotta promise you’ll answer one of my questions, too,” he offered.

Harry nodded.

Louis took a deep breath of the cold night air. “I used to drink a lot. I’d go out every week with my mates and get _smashed._ At first, the boys didn’t mind—they came with me sometimes, and we had a good time. But when we got signed, it started being a problem. I just felt…” Louis frowned, trying to find the words. Harry waited, patient as always. “I felt like I was under so much pressure to have my shit together, to be the _leader,_ I was the oldest, I wanted to protect them. But we got fucked around like everyone in this industry does, and I didn’t handle it well. We were supposed to come out before our second album, you know,” Louis said, glancing at a frowning Harry. “We agreed with our PR team that we wanted it to be part of our image, we didn’t want to make it big without that being something people knew about us, but then…” Louis sighed. “It was just a piece of shit luck, really. I got blackout drunk with the wrong people, and the next morning I’ve got a call from our management that someone had…photos, of me, and they were going to leak them if we didn’t cough up two grand.”

Harry’s hold on Louis’ hand almost became bruising, but Louis just squeezed back. He didn’t specify what kind of photos, and Harry didn’t ask.

“That’s not that much money, though,” Harry said slowly.

Louis nodded. “In the scheme of things, no—we made ten times that just tonight—but our PR team pulled the plug anyway. ‘Wrong climate for it’, or some other bullshit like that. The boys tried to tell me it wasn’t my fault, but. It was.” Louis shrugged. “That was the last time I touched a drink.”

Harry pulled them to a stop. Louis held his breath for a second, expecting—well, something bad—but then he looked up. Harry wasn’t looking at him with judgement or pity, he just looked gentle.

“We’re here,” he said softly. Louis hadn’t even noticed, but Harry was right. The entrance to their hotel was right there, warm and bright.

They went inside.

Harry was quiet on the elevator ride up, but he hadn’t let go of Louis’ hand yet. He pulled them into the room and shut the door behind them.

It was dark inside, the only light was from the moonlight softly filtering in through the lacy curtains. Harry’s eyes looked beautiful, in this light, like the glimpse of reflected light you got from an owl’s eyes in the woods at night.

“What would you like to know?” he asked.

Louis pulled off his two jackets as he thought about it. There was a thousands things he’d like to know about Harry, but there was only one answer that he needed.

Wasn’t that funny.

“How did you get stuck in that lamp?”

Harry let out a breath, shoulders slumping. “You would ask that,” he said tiredly.

Louis stood his ground. He’d let Harry avoid talking about it for as long as he could, but he wasn’t about to start anything with Harry before he had all the facts.

“Can we sit down, before I tell you? It’s a bit of a shit story as well.”

“Of course, love.” Louis hesitated for a second before heading over to the bed. There wasn’t a couch in this room, and he wasn’t going to make Harry sit in a hard wooden chair while he spilled his guts out.

Harry smiled gratefully as he took a seat next to Louis in the bed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me,” he joked, with only a fraction of his usual sassiness.

Louis laughed. “Seduce you? Who do you take me for, lad,” he played along. “This is a family show, it’s cuddles only.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry smiled sweetly, leaning against Louis’ side. “Then where are my cuddles?” He pretended to look around the bed, lifting up a pillow.

Louis giggled helplessly and pulled Harry towards him so he landed in between Louis’ legs, broad back leaning firmly on Louis’ chest.

“Found them!” Harry smiled. He leaned back in Louis’ hold, wiggling a little to get comfortable. Louis hooked his head over Harry’s shoulder and threaded his arms across his middle. Harry hummed contentedly, falling into silence.

Louis let him take as long as he needed.

“My father was a Duke,” Harry started, “the Duke of Manchester, actually. It’s changed a lot since I was a boy, if you can believe.” Louis snorted softly. He wondered if it changed anything, that Harry was royalty. He decided then and there that it didn’t. “And I didn’t want to marry any of the lovely girls my mother presented for courtship. I wanted to marry William.” Harry’s voice was soothing, his slow way of talking almost hypnotic. Louis nudged him to continue. “He was one of the servants, but we fell in love. Mother and Father didn’t approve, but they couldn’t stop me. Or that’s… what I thought, as least. They went to William’s mother to try and convince her to make William leave me, and she was outraged that I had began a relationship with him. There were rumours, of course, about witchcraft and spells and other silly things. I heard the other servants gossiping about it, how William probably inherited the devil’s mark from her, but I didn’t believe any of it. We were going to run away, he and I. The night we were set to leave, he came to me in tears. ‘Mother found out,’ he said, ‘we mustn’t, she’ll curse you.’ I tried to comfort him, but he wouldn’t listen. That was the last time I saw him. I woke up the next morning inside that,” he pointed at the lamp, sitting next to the on the bedside table. “It was a lamp in my room, actually. I couldn’t figure out how to get out of it at first, but when I did I found William’s mother waiting for me. ‘You couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to put someone else’s needs before your own, Harry,’ she said. ‘You’ve lived your life with a silver spoon in your mouth and your heart on your sleeve.’ Then, she took the lamp. I was sucked back inside, trapped. She sold me to a lamp collector, and he was my first owner. That was three hundred years ago.”

There was a long silence after Harry finished his story, the words echoing inside Louis’ mind. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t that.

“William’s mum was a big fan of genies, then?” he asked, trying to break the tension.

After a second where Louis questioned his own sense of tact, Harry snorted. He turned around in Louis’ hold, grinning sheepishly. “I guess so,” he said.

Louis hummed. “I’m sorry that happened to you, darling,” he offered, running his hands up Harry’s back. “Thank you for telling me.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s okay. I’ve had a while to get over it.”

Louis frowned. “Not really, you’re still stuck in the curse,” he said, sending a glare at the lamp.

A timid smile took over Harry’s face. He looked down for a moment, then back up at Louis’ through his lashes. “Is it really a curse, if it brought me to you?”

Louis heart stammered. He fake groaned, trying to pretend like he wasn’t incredibly flattered. “That was terrible, Harry,” he said.

Harry shifted so he was sitting up, still caged in Louis’ legs. He run his hands up Louis’ thighs then leaned forward and kissed his nose. “I don’t care,” he said, pushing a hand underneath Louis’ shirt and resting it over his heart. “I love you.”

Louis’ breath caught in his throat. He was embarrassed to realise that Harry definitely would have been able to feel his heart rate tick up at his declaration.

“Do you mean that, Harry?” Louis asked desperately. He covered Harry’s hand with his own, still separated by the thin fabric of Louis’ tee. “Or do you just think I need you to love me?”

Harry shook his head stubbornly. “It’s not about that, Louis. I’m not… a slave to your whims, or whatever other rubbish you think. It’s just a compulsion—something I can ignore, if I want. It’s been three hundred years, no curse is that strong. I love you because of who you are, how strong and caring and funny and kind you are. How… brave. And full of love.”

Louis blinked and realised he was crying. Harry made a broken noise, wiping the tears away with his free hand. “Stop, I’ll start crying too,” he said, already sniffling.

“Harry—fuck, what’s your middle and last name?” Louis rushed out, leaning forward.

“Edward Styles,” Harry replied, watching Louis sit up on the bed with a nervous look in his eyes. He pulled his hand back and started twisting his fingers together in his lap.

Louis planted his hands on Harry’s shoulders, looking between his wonderful, shining eyes.

“Harry Edward Styles,” he started, “you are the most beautiful, unique, insane, and important person I’ve met in my entire life. I want you to be free more than I’ve ever wanted anything, because I love you too. Of course I do.”

Harry’s face just sort of… broke. Tears streamed down from his eyes, and he choked on a sob. “Really?” he asked, like Louis might take it back.

“Yes, baby, come here,” Louis soothed, pulling Harry’s face into his neck and stroking his back calmingly. “It’s okay. I’m yours, yeah?”

Harry hugged Louis back fiercely, nodding into Louis’ shirt and probably wiping some snot on it in the process. Not that Louis cared.

“I’m yours, too,” he said. Louis had to struggle to make out the words, but when he did he pressed a firm kiss into Harry’s hair.

“I know.”

Harry shuddered against him, then pulled back suddenly.

“I want to show you something,” he said, face a mess from crying and hair sticking up in all directions.

Louis couldn’t help but kiss him again. “What is it?” he asked against Harry’s lips.

Harry smiled sort of shyly, sitting back and pulling his shirt over his head. His chest was smooth in the moonlight, ribs expanding slightly with his breaths. He also, Louis was surprised to notice, had four nipples. That was something for a later date.

Louis raised his eyebrows. “Very impressive, Harry, but I’m not really in the mood right now,” he joked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Just…” he quietened, mouth pursed. “Can you not ask any questions? I just want you to see it.”

Louis searched his face, sitting up. “Of course, darling,” he replied.

Harry turned around, back facing Louis. Louis’ gaze was caught instantly on the crisp black lines decorating Harry’s left side. He leaned closer, placing a gentle hand on Harry’s back as he studied the small tattoo.

It was of a birdcage, hanging off Harry’s rib without a door or any trace of life inside.

Louis was glad Harry had told him he didn’t want him to ask any questions, because Louis was brimming with them.

But he stayed silent, tracing the lines with his eyes. Then, he leaned forward and pressed a delicate kiss to the marked skin. Louis felt Harry’s breath catch.

“Come back,” Louis said softly, reaching around Harry’s front and tugging until they were both lying down on the bed again, Harry’s back to Louis’ front and Louis’ face in his hair.

They stayed like that, curled around each other and whispering sweet nothings, until the first light of dawn started creeping through the window.

“Look, Louis,” Harry said tiredly, pointing to the sunrise. “It’s the first day of the rest of our lives.”

Louis shoved him off the bed.

 

***

 

“Morning, lads, I brought coffee and Harry!” Louis ushered Harry into the studio, closing the door behind them.

The rest of the boys were spread out across the room—Niall at the piano, Liam lounging on the couch in the corner with his guitar in his lap, and Zayn lying on the floor kicking about on his laptop.

It had been a couple weeks since their tour had ended, and the everyone had used the time to visit their families for a nice little holiday. They were back at it now, though; they were finalising the songs they had written for the next two weeks, then they were getting stuck into producing and recording the tracks for their next album.

“My two favourite things!” Niall called, bounding over and stealing a coffee from Louis and a kiss to the cheek from Harry.

“Is Harry helping?” Liam asked delicately, like he wanted to ask ‘why is he here’, but didn’t want to sound rude.

Louis puffed out his chest proudly. “Not only is Harry helping, he’s got a song for us, and you’re all going to listen to it then clap politely and say ‘yes Louis lets put this on the album.’”

Zayn snorted, looking up from his laptop. “I thought this was a democracy.”

Louis glared at him. “Incorrect. You’re fired.”

Zayn made a strangely exaggerated pout/frown combination. He kept the expression up for another couple seconds before his face broke and he giggled.

“Well, I mean, we’re happy to hear it, but we’re going to need to give him credit on the album if we use it,” Liam said, very reasonably.

Louis took a sip of his coffee.

“I don’t mind,” Harry offered. “I wrote it for Louis, he can have it.”

Louis sent a death glare at him. Harry noted the expression then rolled his eyes. “What I _meant_ to say was of course I want credit, my work should be rewarded, I’m a human person with my own wants and needs,” he spouted robotically.

Louis passed him his coffee as a reward.

“Sure, alright, Harry,” Niall said. “Now play us this song already! I wanna hear it.”

Harry grinned and sat down at the piano. “I think it will work better with a guitar, but I never learned that, so,” he said awkwardly, fingers poised over the keys.

Louis moved to sit on the floor next to Zayn, cross legged and back straight like a child in a classroom ready to listen.

Harry grinned at him fondly. Louis grinned back.

Harry started playing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Leave a comment or kudos if you liked it, and be sure to check out the rest of the fics in the challenge! Also I'd love it if you reblogged [this post](http://graceling-in-a-suit.tumblr.com/post/175722042945/waiting-for-someone-who-needs-me-by) over on tumblr xx


End file.
